


Death

by missamericanthighs



Series: Original Works [1]
Category: Myself; Yourself
Genre: Death, Emotions, Late Night Writing, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 01:34:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6175015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missamericanthighs/pseuds/missamericanthighs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Original Work<br/>Something I wrote to shed light on the impact of death and how I cope with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Death

I remember the last time that I held his hand. I was eight then, and I never saw it coming. Of course I was too young to know exactly what was happening, but I knew he was sick. Real sick. I think I really understood the gravity of the situation when my dad sat down with me and said, “Daddy has to leave for a few days, because he has to go collect granpa’s things. He's gone to a better place.The cancer finally got him.”. I froze. “Better place”, as he had phrased it, was enough for me to figure out that Grandpa was gone, and I would never see him again. I was never really exposed to death until that year, maybe one cat had died, but again I was too young to understand. But it hit me like a freight train, almost as if life was trying to fill in all the time it missed. First it was Grandpa, then the cat, then the dog, then the other cat, then Grandma. It wasn't like I’ll never, ever see them again, but I know that my time with them here, on this earth, in this solar system, in this part of the universe, was over. My head spun, my chest tightened, and I crumpled onto myself, not knowing what to do, except, cry. I cried and I cried and tried to breathe, then started the cycle again. After a few months, I slowly began to accept their deaths, and what that meant when people said I was “moving on”. Because to me, I wasn’t moving on. I wasn’t going to pass by their deaths like a roadside truck stop. I just wouldn't let their deaths affect me as much as they did. I would keep them in my heart, and cherish their life that they had, and especially the time they chose to spend with me. I would keep those memories and use them to build me up. Use them to make me a better person. This is not “moving on”, but continuing forward with the broken pieces. Forming the shattered bits of my sword into a shield. Then, later on I started to realize that other people had been hit by the collateral damage that Death left in his wake. Some had collected their pieces, and formed their own shield, or armor, or flashlight. Others were simply left broken and bleeding, continually cut open the the shattered pieces of themselves. It was truly a sight to weep for. However, my shield i carried with me, was big enough for two. So I would help where i could, protecting others while they figured out what their protection would be. Then, they would leave again. But it wasn’t as bad. The pain was there, sure, but I had learned how to cope. How to collect myself and start again. And eventually, it’ll be my time to leave. When I do, I know that everyone around me saw my light, and it will illuminate their own path. They’ll build their own protection with the broken pieces that I left behind, and continue on. That’s what we do, we continue on. Why? Because somewhere, the cheers and shouts of encouragement will bring us home, back to the light, and back to heaven.


End file.
